


Love In The Darkness

by fansfieldpark



Series: Time, Love, And Endings [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A Song of Ice and Fire References, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arya Stark is not Azor Ahai, Azor Ahai, Drama & Romance, Dreams And Prophecy, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Identity Issues, Inspired by Poetry, North of the Wall (ASoIaF), POV Multiple, Post Season 6, Slow Burn, The Long Night, Three-Eyed Raven Bran Stark, Time is an Illusion, a timeline? doubly so, more angst drama less action fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:59:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26071516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fansfieldpark/pseuds/fansfieldpark
Summary: With Cersei defeated and the Kingdoms mostly united, the realm, and newly wed King Jon and Queen Daenerys look North, beyond the Wall, to the real threat. Arya finally goes home, and Gendry gets the shock of a lifetime. Jaime and Sansa find a little time to enjoy the married life.Featuring: The New Long Night, Dragons and Wights, and The Night King himself, and more than a few references to ASOIAF lore and prophecy, and as always a little poetry to set the mood.POV from Jon, Daenerys, Arya, Gendry, Jaime, and Sansa.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Time, Love, And Endings [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/634430
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	Love In The Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> As always, the title comes from a poem, only I can't remember the poet or the poem (and I deep searched my history, and rifled through the many poetry books I own and somehow still couldn't find it, whoops). So if anyone recognizes it, please let me know.
> 
> A bit of a warning:Bran's POV will only be featured twice, this opener here, and once more. Also I'm taking a different approach to him as the Three Eyed Raven, therefore he is not infallible (where's the fun in that?). 
> 
> I am picking up where they left off in season 6, but going my own way with it, and so for the sake of this fic, Bran's timeline is ambiguous; he arrives at A Heart tree later than in canon, but before where part one ends, if that makes any sense. Also, I’m placing him further West, not near Castle Black for reasons I will eventually get into.

_The way a crow  
Shook down on me  
The dust of snow  
From a hemlock tree_

_Has given my heart  
A change of mood  
And saved some part  
Of a day I had rued._

_Dust Of Snow by Robert Frost_

**Bran**

**∞**

He heard it first, like a whisper in his ear, the exhale of breath, sharp and jolting. He was still in that room, the smell of blood and death as real as the sound of that hard breathing. He could hear his father, or what had once been his father, crying over his dead sister, and a small child bundled in his arms, and his own breath quiet and steady.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the sound until he could see it. See him. Jon.

Bran had considered him a brother, before.

Though he was now neither Bran nor Jon’s cousin, they were connected still. And as he’d seen it, so had Jon.

A new path opened behind his eyes.

“Bran?”

The world flickered under his eyelids, different moments, past and present and future all vying for his attention. Meera’s voice was a steady anchor though, familiar and firm, pulling him to the now.

He removed his hand from the Heart Tree before opening his eyes to look at her. Meera frowned down at him, standing on guard as if they were about to be set upon. He knew they didn’t have anything to worry about just yet, this far west, but did not think to assauge her worry.

“Yes?” He answered simply.

“You’ve been touchin’ that tree for hours now, it’s getting dark. If we want to get to the gate before nightfall, we should be leaving right about now.”

Behind her he could see the rudimentary sled she’d built while he was gone, little more than thick branches tied together with scraps of fabric, wide enough he could rest on it, and she could pull.

“I cannot leave. Not yet.”

He raised his arm as if to touch the Tree again, when Meera reached out for his wrist stopping him. Her expression was fierce and her tone stern, but he could still sense her fear, despite how hard she was trying to hide it.

“We can’t stay here.”

He could not leave, not until he understood… everything. Where his power ended, how much he’d done, what he could _still_ do. So many possible new paths, how could he explain any one of them to her?

“I’m not going anywhere else. But you are still free to choose your own path.”

He could not make her stay, though she would if he asked. She wanted to go, back to her family, to her life. It would be harder without Meera, much harder, but he would survive. He had no other choice. He could die, he knew this. But it would not be the cold, nor hunger, he knew this too.

Meera looked at him, astonished, as if what he said had offended her somehow. As if that was no real choice at all.

“I’m not leaving you here.”

When he said nothing, for there was nothing he needed to say, Meera let out a deep frustrated sigh, and sheathed the dragonglass dagger.

“We’ll need supplies. I’ll go to the gate at Stonedoor in the morning. Get them to give me what we need, _somehow_. Right now, I’m going to make a fire. It is safe to do that I assume?”

If she was upset, he could not tell, her tone was that familiar snark he’d hated as Bran Stark.

“For now, yes.” He answered cryptically.

Meera rolled her eyes, and moved away to collect whatever branches she could.

He already knew what would happen of course, some things were fixed, roots he couldn’t change, their foundations too stable. But there were others, smaller roots, always changing and growing, that it was easy enough to guide their course. And there was always chance. This was something he understood now.

The world lay bare in his hands, but he could not control any of it.

“No one can know who I was,” He said, knowing it had to remain so, but still unsure he should say it. He knew everything, and yet he felt at moments, as if he knew too much.

Meera stilled and looked over at him. “Was?”

“I’m the Three Eyed Raven now.”

He could clarify, make her understand that Bran Stark was as dead as her own brother, but he knew it would not do her any good to hear this.

Meera let out a shallow breath, “Good, because I was planning on telling them that. Think they’re more like to believe it than you being a Stark.”

She tried to make her voice light, as if it were a jest, but he could feel the worry underneath.

“They won’t believe that either, but you can try.”

Meera frowned, concern suddenly forgotten. “You want me to tell them that?”

“It will not matter, they won’t understand. Whatever you say, they will come back with you. Here. You need only make sure they bring what we need when you return.”

Meera rolled her eyes, and went back to building her little pyre in the spot she’d chosen for them.

“Must everything you say be cryptic and unclear?”

He did not smile, “Only when I must explain complex things to simple minds.”

Meera scoffed, and shot him a sharp glance, “You still sound like Brandon Stark to me.”

He had no answer to that.

He had known, _before_ , when he was still Bran, that his own power, was not like the one before him. He had been born with it, he knew that now. He’d not known to use it, but it was there none-the-less, in the strength of his arms, and the dexterity of his feet, in his heart racing with exhilaration instead of fear as he scaled the walls and rooftops of Winterfell. 

What he had never known, was how to control it, this wildness in his heart. Not even his own peril, and the loss of use in his legs, had tamed it. Bran’s defiance had set everything in motion when he’d touched the root and seen the Night King, and had been touched by him.

The power was always meant to be his, but he had forced the moment, altered his path. And now, he’d wielded it like a child on unsteady feet taking his first steps, faltering on the first one.

Nothing could have prepared him for the weight of time and knowledge that’d be given to him. Even the little training he’d received had been but a pinprick of what now filled his head. Everything existed behind his mind’s eyes, but he could not predict what would happen when he touched the Heart Tree, as the Three Eyed Raven, for the first time.

He had not foreseen their connection, and by showing the truth too soon he’d veered Jon astray,muddled the decision he would have made had he learned it at the right time.

It was clear now, what he’d done, what he’d altered, why they were connected.

Jon had died.

Bran watched it happen as if he’d been there, watched as the life left his eyes. He saw Jon come back, the same hard gasps for air. Melisandre had been gifted with the deed, as if her feeble prayers had been enough. Jon had crossed into the dark. But it was the darkness that had spit him back out, and something like that left a mark.

His own, was more literal, still imprinted on his forearm. He looked down though he couldn’t see it, and slipped his hand up his sleeve to press his palm against the raised skin. He closed his eyes.

He still had some time left to fix what he could.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is a short one, but I hope to update soon. Thanks for reading, and reviews are appreciated!


End file.
